


Berlin, 1990

by WasteTimeandType



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Aged Characters, Angst, Canon Universe, Character Death, F/M, Gaby's POV, Gen, Grief, Memories, Multi, No idea what to tag this as, Old Age, Past, Third Person POV, mention of past character death, middle aged, reflections, sad shit, terminal illness, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 03:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11005365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WasteTimeandType/pseuds/WasteTimeandType
Summary: Napoleon Solo and Gaby Teller, two former partners in work and more, meet in a once divided city for reflections on the good, and reflections on the bad.





	Berlin, 1990

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I think a line of text was deleted by accident (when Napoleon asked Gaby how she found Berlin, and then he responds without a reply from Gaby), and its fixed now.

_May, 7th 1990_

“Gaby, you look positively radiant as always.” Gaby turned from her coffee cup to see Napoleon Solo stood before her. His hair greyed, with lines on his face but the ever-present glowing smile that typically characterised the American.

“Solo, you continue to charm,” she says, and gestures to the chair next to her as he sits down. They exchange pleasantries, as Solo orders his coffee, as they catch up. When Solo called her, asking if she wanted to meet in Berlin, she noted that it had been years since they last met. Maybe four, five?

“Now, Ms Teller, how do you find Berlin to be after all these years?”

She continues drinking her coffee. "I have visited Berlin since you first took me over the wall, you know."

Napoleon merely smiled in return. “I do know. I was there for some of them. However, I do believe that this is the first time for _leisure_.”

“Well, Solo, since you asked me here, I have managed to find various jobs I could be sorting.”

Napoleon laughed. “You're such a workaholic. Well, I suppose there’s a lot of loose ends you need to sort out.”

Gaby snorts. “Loose ends, more like a tangled knot of everything coming together. The cold war coming to an end only complicates everything,” she complains, twisting her ponytail in her fingers in a slight annoyance, before returning a smile to her face. “Solo, how’s the world of art dealing?”

“Well, you know, as dull as ever.” He answers with a slightly mischievous glint in his eye, and Gaby knows that his new profession probably contains a few backhanded and even to state not legal deals as always. “Though, I did just retire,” he adds.

“What!? Solo, you get  _bored_ easily.” And it’s true. Illya used to comment that for someone who acted like a man of leisure and sophistication, Napoleon in actuality was like a child who needed be continuously occupied. Which Napoleon would refute, but it was more truthful than false.

“Well, you know, I have to let the youth take over at some point.” He comments. Gaby supposes he is sixty now, and that's a good a time as any to move on.

“It is nice to be back, I suppose.”

“To be back in the old city?”

“Yes, well, the city feels different,” Gaby stated. “The wall is gone. It’s one city again. Sure, not technically, but, it's there.”

“I’m sure we could find it.” Napoleon started. “Where we went over.”

“Hmmm,” Gaby said. “Whatever for?” she asked the man.

Napoleon shrugged. “It might be fun. A trip down memory lane” he said, and Gaby merely nods in acceptance. A trip down memory lane wasn’t exactly somewhere that Gaby often wanted to go, but she couldn’t see the harm in visiting her former birth city.

After paying for the two coffees by flagging down a waiter, they leave the coffee shop. They strode through the city until they reach the checkpoint, crossing over to the other side with merely a flash of ID.

“Did you get goosebumps?” he commented, referring to their legal crossing.

“It’s certainly surreal,” she stated, especially since her first crossing was by zip-wire. “It all happened so fast. I wouldn’t have bet my life on this a year ago.”

Napoleon smiled in return, and she watched him walk ahead. It was extraordinary, though. Berlin was an oddity for her; home, but one filled with many bad memories. However, she couldn’t deny the good ones, and the sense of belonging she got once she returned to the once divided city.

Napoleon glanced over to her and must’ve noticed her distant look upon her and smirked. “Are you contemplating my beauty, Ms Teller?”

She snapped out of her fugue and rolled her eyes. “I’m contemplating how old you look.”

“Harsh. I’ve been told I pass for forty on a good day.”

“And on a bad one?”

Gaby wonders if it was a trick of the light, but swears she sees him falter ever so slightly. If he did, he recovers well and flashes her a typically winning grin. “I must have misspoken. There’s never a bad day.”

She laughs. No matter how old Napoleon was ( _sixty, he’s over sixty, and she is fifty-one, and where had all the time gone_ ), he is still charming, suave and as arrogant as ever. It was something she had missed after their absence apart.

Napoleon halted, looking confused. “I can't remember for the life of me if this is the right direction.”

“Which is why _I_ should be leading.” She moved in front of Napoleon. Napoleon seemed happy enough to follow, allowing her to guide them through the streets.

She could still remember these streets well, it seemed. She may now have British citizenship with a clean accent to partner, but her East German roots were never forgotten.

She stopped as she came onto the street, and nodded. “This is it.”

“It is?” Napoleon said, looking at the house and then the wall before him, where their car had been crashed, and they'd made their way to the roof. “Huh. I was sure I'd recognise it.”

Gaby gazed above. “Well, we were _above_ it most of the time.”

Napoleon looked above. “I suppose we were. Now, back to the checkpoint so we can view it from the West.”

Gaby stared at him in confusion and sighed as they moved to trudge back towards the other side of the wall. It was mostly in silence as Gaby travelled to find the place she went into the van with Solo.

It's less recognisable than the east side, but she is sure this is where they landed. The statement that _they're here_ elicits a small smile from Napoleon.

“Now, _this_ I remember. Or at least, Peril dropping behind the wall.”

“You left him a minefield.”

“Well, I think we _both_ did.” Napoleon retorted. “I hadn't predicted that we’d meet again. Really, it was an unlikely scenario.”

“No,” Gaby said. “He was frightening from the car.”

“Not so much up close. Though, he did wrestle me into a headlock the first time we met face to face. I tried to find the bathrooms- they’ve been pulled down.”

Gaby hesitated from speaking again. _Why on Earth was Napoleon insisting on visiting these locations?_ “Napoleon,” she said, using his first name which she almost smiled at his grimace at, “what is this about?”

There was a growing suspicion in her gut that this tour of Berlin was not a nice catch-up. In fact, she could notice that perhaps Napoleon was not as sprightly as she first considered- he was clearly tired and seemed a little short of breath.

He ignored her, again. “It seems strange that this is where we all first met.”

“It wasn't my introduction proper to Illya.” She said, knowing that Napoleon was one to drag out suspense, and she couldn't wheedle it out of him until he’s ready. Instead, she recalled the moment she and Illya were properly introduced to each other in a boutique

“While not a formal introduction, it is instead a good story to tell. Of course, we can't really tell anyone, being former spies.”

“Not appeared for me” she counters, and he nods in agreement.

The two continued to walk around the Wall, taking in the sight of the grey mass which was clearly being hacked away at by locals. She sighed. “I still miss him,” Gaby said, breaking the heavy silence.

“The feeling is mutual” Napoleon looks away briefly as if to hide the flash of pain in his eyes, to only look back at her with it still evident in his face.

It had been a routine mission, like any other, and it had gone disastrously wrong. Their mission was to infiltrate a suspected former Nazi's hideout as antique dealers, but their covers had been blown and they were soon running down a hallway escaping a hail of bullets. Some were ricocheting off the walls, and Gaby thought to herself whether someone could get hurt before Illya fell to the ground with a hole in his head.

It wasn't especially dramatic. Illya had gasped in confusion and Gaby wasn't sure if he was even taking in her pleas; begging him to hold on. Napoleon had covered them by returning bullets to their pursuers, but he only kept returning panicked glances until their persuers were all dead, and he joined them on the floor, as she desperately tried to ignore the fluid with masses in it leaking out of their Russian's head. Illya had ignored her pleas and closed his eyes and never opened them again.

And that was it.

Gaby hated that there was no proper goodbye from either of them. It was just sudden. A stray bullet. The only comfort that Gaby could gather was that he wasn’t alone when he died, he was surrounded by his partners in work and love.

There was no way Gaby’s and Napoleon’s partnership could continue after that. As colleagues, they were two wrapped up in grief.

As lovers, the grief made them drift apart.

She didn't mind when Napoleon returned to the States. She doubted they'd managed to have a full conversation for months when he announced he was leaving the world of espionage to go into art. They said their goodbyes and hoped they could move on with their lives, find their peace apart and not be reminded of who they were missing. Gaby stayed with UNCLE until detente between the superpowers fell apart, and they pulled their support of UNCLE, rendering it obsolete. She obtained a steady desk job as a handler with MI6, courtesy of Waverly. And that was how her life had played out since then.

Napoleon took her hand, making her jump slightly in surprise. He smiled apologetically. “I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how things could so easily have been different.”

“If Illya hadn’t died?” she asks.

Napoleon smiled sadly. “Of course.”

If Illya hadn't died, then she could imagine a long partnership, where they retired from field duty to become desk agents, perhaps buy a flat for the three of them in the middle of London, and hopefully spend the rest of their life together. It is only a fantasy, one that she allows herself to believe in her more haggard moments because she knows that the life they all lead most likely wouldn't turn out that way.

She sometimes wonders that even if Illya had still died, whether or not she should have proposed marriage to Napoleon. There was only two of them now, and after all, that is what lovers do. She suspects that Napoleon, despite his appearance of aloofness, would actually be quite a faithful husband when it came down to it, but she knows they would've made each other miserable. Two sad people were never going to be happy, even if they were in love.

“Gaby, you must know that I’ve not asked you here just for a chit chat.”

“No, I guess not.” she said hesitantly.

“I’m sick, Gaby,” he states, “and the medication isn't effective.” He looks reluctant even to tell her this, but he finds the words to continue; “I wanted to call, but I couldn't find the words over the phone.”

Her suspicions were now confirmed, but it still made her breath hitch, and she stared at Napoleon before her. He was dying. By an illness, it seems, despite his ever-present infallibility in her mind. “This is a farewell tour, isn’t it?”

“Not so much a _tour_. But I wanted to come back to the city that started it all.” he gestures sadly, and they continue to walk to a park before he sits her down on a bench. “I’ve had a good run. Did I ever think I’d get to sixty-one? Not really. I’ve lived a long life. But even after all I stole and collected, perhaps you and Illya were the only things that were ever really _worth_ anything.” Napoleon says, and Gaby noticed that he would, of course, use an analogy to stealing. In contrast, Gaby likes to think that she and Illya stole him. Stole him away from a life of bachelorhood and seduction, even if it only ended up being for a brief period.

“Napoleon,” she starts, but she isn’t sure how to continue. A lot is being said; things that haven't been mentioned for years; their previous catch up’s being mainly simple and perfunctory talkings. Everything now coming to the forefront, _and how can she respond to such feelings laid bare?_ , “You’ve grown sentimental with age.”

He laughs, but it is slightly hollow. “Perhaps. I’ve had a lot of time to think, recently,” he states, before flexing his hand, twitching. He seems to show his age at this moment, as even with his thinner and more tired appearance, he was always Napoleon Solo, ageless and not dissimilar to when Gaby first met him.

Their four years together were truly the best. Napoleon Solo, Gaby Teller and Illya Kuryakin, partners against the various foes that put the world in jeopardy. Cowboy, Chop Shop Girl and Peril when together; alone, and in secret.

She had certainly aged, and so had Napoleon. The world was changing, Gaby was hesitant to even state if the cold war was still occurring, and Illya had long been since laid to rest in a small funeral in Moscow. Things were never the same.

“Come back to London with me.” she phrases it far more as a command than she would've liked, but Gaby isn't sure if she does intend it as a question.

“Hm?”

“I’ll take care of you.” she states, looking at him and watches as his lips purse into a grimace.

“Gaby, I did not come here to ask for a _nursemaid_.” He’s almost angry, and that was a unifying feature of them all, their stubbornness in admitting weakness. It's why it worked that there was three of them, two to wear down the other to get them to open up. She once again takes his hand, and she looks into those deep blue eyes. “I know. I’m still offering.” She says.

She still loves him. She always has, even if they couldn’t be together anymore. The three never discussed love when they were altogether apart from the rare and vulnerable admissions, and maybe they should have, but Gaby always thought it was rather self-evident.

She wasn’t able to say a proper goodbye to Illya. But she’ll be damned if this opportunity is taken away. Napoleon needs someone, otherwise, he wouldn’t have set up this farewell. Gaby can’t bare the thought of him alone in his last moments.

Napoleon looks conflicted. “It’s not my idea of a good time- for either of us”

“I know,” she wills him to understand, if even slightly. She won’t mind.

She suspects he will decline her request, but he eventually sighs, glancing back at her, and plastering on a smile again. “I can’t refuse.” He sinks into the bench slightly and relaxes into her. A quiet admission of weakness: Solo has changed, and he can't continue alone.

Gaby smiles, and nothing more is said at that moment, and they bask in the sunshine in Berlin, hands remaining intertwined. She glanced at his wrist; still brandishing Illya’s watch. She still wears his ring he gave her on that first mission all those years ago.

They accepted and learnt to live with Illya's death, but perhaps they never moved on.

No, they didn’t say goodbye to Illya the way they wanted, but they can certainly say goodbye to each other.

They deserve that at least.

**Author's Note:**

> I've no clue what compelled me to write this. Feedback is loved and appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
> \-- I'm not entirely sure of how the border checking worked for foreign citizens, but I'm just gonna assume that ID was fine. I assume Gaby would take British citizenship as she was a spy for the British, but she could've also taken West German citizenship as well.  
> \-- The wall was not formally dismantled until June that year but citizens often engaged with dismantling it even after the fall in 1989. This fic is merely guess work because I'm not quite dedicated enough to guess where Gaby and Napoleon actually crossed and then uncover the extent of the wall there in 1990.  
> \-- This had to be set in Berlin because London or New York would've been boring.  
> \-- I intended to write this with an illness in mind, but I intentionally didn't specify at the end for reasons, mainly being that it was not important to the plot.  
> \-- I'm not exactly fond of the title (typical me). It was a working title but Berlin isn't actually that central to the main thrust of the story, but it still remains.


End file.
